


Letters and Sodas

by justlikesomuch



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: (how is that not already a tag?), (so let's call it), Crooked era, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pod Tours America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-22 07:36:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikesomuch/pseuds/justlikesomuch
Summary: Lovett and Tommy only hook up when they're on tour. It's just a fun, casual thing. Until it's something else.





	1. Close Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alotofthingsdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/gifts).



> Thank you for the request. I hope this story brings you joy. 
> 
> ***
> 
> This is all imaginary. Keep it secret, people, so we can all sleep at night.

Lovett wakes up to a throb in his leg. He squints and stretches. It's barely light outside. He's in a hotel bed, Tommy asleep beside him.

That means they must be on tour.

For a moment, he can't remember what city they're in. Then it comes back to him all at once. Denver. Late night drinks in the hotel bar. Tommy meeting his gaze from across the table, giving him That Look. The look that asks—is this happening, this thing we don't talk about? Are we doing our tour thing tonight?

And Lovett had pressed the edge of his shoe carefully against Tommy's bare ankle as if to say: Yes.

Yes, keep looking at me that way when the others aren't watching. Yes, come to my room when everyone else has turned in for the night. Yes, kiss me against the door until we're both out of breath. Yes, undress me and get on your knees for me. Yes. Yes.

So here they are. Lovett watches Tommy sleep for a minute before he pulls on his clothes and steps out to hunt down coffee.

***

When he gets back to the hotel room, Tommy has just come out of the shower. He has a small white towel wrapped around his hips, and water droplets cling to his skin. Lovett watches him flop stomach-down on the bed and rest his chin on folded arms. He gives Lovett a small, sleepy smile. “Morning,” he says.

“Morning yourself. Brought you coffee.”

“Mmm, thanks. Set it down over there and come here?” There's a question in his tone, but his expression is intent, teasing. Lovett feels lightheaded, probably from the altitude, or the brisk walk back to the hotel. Maybe because of his leg.

He drinks his coffee and stays put, watching Tommy. He wants to draw this out.

“I don't know, Tommy. You’re all clean, and now I’m _so_ gross from the walk. How do people live here? How great can it be if there's not enough AIR? I’m sweating through my shirt just from walking to Novo.”

“Lovett,” Tommy says in sleep-rumbly singsong, beckoning Lovett back to bed.

“Which, by the way, they have some sort of coffee in the lobby, but it did NOT seem promising. And now I’m not sure it was worth it to get, like, soaked with my own disgustingness. I think I’m still sweating out those sticky cocktails, and—”

“Come here.” Tommy pats the bed, resting his cheek in his hand.

Lovett sighs.

"Your coffee will get cold." But he sets down his own cup next to Tommy's and kicks off his sneakers. He crosses the room and settles on the edge of the bed, tucking his legs under him.

Tommy traces his fingers gently around the patchwork of band-aids on Lovett’s shin. Lovett winces.

“What happened here?”

“Ugh, don’t ask. I mean, definitely do ask later, because it’s a GREAT story. But it’s not sexy.”

“Oh, are we doing sexy now?" Tommy grins, his eyes crinkling.

“I mean, I _thought_ so. Unless this is your business attire?” He gestures vaguely to Tommy's—his whole thing, really. His entirety. He presses a thumb to Tommy’s jaw and just holds it there. Tommy shuts his eyes, his breath catching at the contact.

“Lovett, last night was—” Tommy starts, but Lovett cuts him off with a kiss, a tentative press, tasting his lips and breathing in his warm clean skin. 

“Tommy,” Lovett murmurs, kissing his cheek, his ear, his neck, breathing and kissing. He traces a map of huge, ridiculous freckles, lower and lower down Tommy's back. Each kiss is more urgent, more insistent. Tommy is quiet, his breath shaky, anticipating.

Lovett mouths along the edge of the towel, skims his tongue across the surface of Tommy’s broad back. The bottom of his spine arches in slightly when he's in this position, forming a warm smooth valley. Lovett suddenly wants to pause, to just rest his face in that welcoming curve and go back to sleep for rest of the morning. 

Instead, he pulls off the towel and tosses it on the carpet. He sits back on his knees, just admiring the improbable sight of Tommy Vietor, naked and stretched out before him.

“Your ass is wasted on a straight guy, you know.”

Tommy laughs. “A straight guy? Okay. I don’t know. You, ah, you seem like you’re putting it to pretty good use lately.”

Lovett hums. “We’ll see." He cups a smooth round cheek, gives it an tentative, appreciative squeeze.

“You’re still wearing all your clothes,” says Tommy. “And I’m totally naked here.”

“These are facts.”

“Should we do something about that?”

“Nope,” says Lovett, and resumes kissing Tommy’s lower back, moving down until his tongue grazes the very top of Tommy’s ass, licking softly at the cleft, waiting for a signal. Tommy sucks in a sharp breath, so Lovett keeps going, moves to suck kisses into those full, perfect cheeks. 

How long, exactly? How many years has Lovett watched, surreptitiously, abashedly, as his handsome friend leaned across tables, walked off stages, bent down to pet dogs or retrieve dropped pens? How many times has he looked at Tommy and pressed down the desire to pull Tommy to the floor, roll him gently onto his front and do _this?_

He feels drunk on possibilities, on shower-soft skin and Tommy’s clean, familiar scent. He climbs between his knees and nudges them further apart. A band-aid on his leg catches on the sheets, and he shudders, but he keeps going. He's waited long enough.

Heart pounding, he runs his hands up the backs of Tommy’s long legs and squeezes, rubbing his thumbs gently along the soft skin where his thighs meet, grazing Tommy’s balls with the edges of his fingers. 

Above him, Tommy is making small, desperate noises into his folded arms. Lovett takes a breath and bends down, tentatively licks up the cool outer seam of Tommy’s ass. Tommy moans louder, no longer muffling the sound.

“Okay?” Lovett asks.

“Oh, so, ah, so completely more than okay,” says Tommy. He sounds choked. 

Lovett smiles and presses in, tongue seeking and pushing, hands pulling and spreading. Tommy is so warm inside, clean and wrinkled and then, Oh God, so smooth. So delicate and vulnerable. Lovett can’t stop, can barely pull back to breathe. But he does breathe, he breathes and hums and groans without meaning to, his face pressed into Tommy. He kisses him and sucks at his cheeks, grazes them with his teeth, licks his balls, licks back up and in, in and in, losing himself.

Tommy sounds even more lost. He begs and swears and mutters praise, pushing back against Lovett’s mouth and twisting under his touch. He sounds like he is on the edge of tears, but instead he steadies his breath and says, “Lovett. Lovett, fuck, come here.”

Lovett wipes off on the sheet and scoots up to Tommy, who rolls onto his back and pulls Lovett on top of him, still fully clothed. He grabs Lovett’s face and tugs him down into a kiss, fierce and desperate, no attempt at elegance. They stay like that for a moment, kisses slowing until they are barely kisses at all; a slow slide of tongues and bitten lips, shared breath and smiles, filthy and promising.

“Lovett, take your fucking clothes off,” Tommy says after a minute, sounding surprisingly calm. His voice vibrates against Lovett's skin, soft and low, all the more commanding for its understated control.

Lovett complies this time. He quickly yanks off his t-shirt, unzips his pants and shoves them down and off, along with his briefs. Regrettably, he still has his socks on. That's not a great sex look. He leans away from Tommy's gaze to pull them off.

Behind him, he hears Tommy uncap the lube and squeeze it out. He turns and lies down on his side, pulling Tommy close so that they are facing each other, hands clasped. Tommy presses his thickly-muscled leg between Lovett’s thighs. His face is incredibly pink. Seeing it, Lovett feels the same warm shiver he gets from making Tommy pink up with laughter, or scandalized delight.

I did that, he thinks. I made him feel that way. I made Tommy happy.

Tommy sighs and touches Lovett’s jaw, kisses him softly. He lines up their cocks and wraps his massive, slicked-up hand around them both.

Lovett groans; he can’t last long at this point. He presses his face into Tommy’s clean, sweaty neck and rocks, moaning at the perfect slide of Tommy's hand, at the sharp taste of salt on his skin.

Tommy’s free arm is wrapped around Lovett’s back, warm and firm, holding him in place. He mumbles a stream of praise into Lovett’s curls, a rhythmic chant, “So good, so hot, so perfect, fuckfuckfuck, I'm so close, Lovett,” as they both thrust up into Tommy’s hand.

Soon, Tommy is spilling over both of them, jerking Lovett with an erratic stroke as he takes huge, gasping breaths, eyes squeezed shut. Sated, he shifts his focus to getting Lovett off.

“That was so hot—what you did, Lovett, oh my God, so fucking hot. You have to do that again. I want you to eat me out all the time, I want you to get me wet and fuck me like that, without anything else. Fuck me in the studio. Fuck me in the van between live shows. Lovett, I need you, I need you—"

It’s effective, this approach. Lovett kisses him deep and comes hard, shooting onto Tommy’s abs. He flops back onto the bed and starts to drift into a sexed-up fog. Tommy retrieves the towel from the floor and groggily cleans them off, coming to lie with his head on Lovett’s chest, his hand gently tracing the trail of hair down from his navel.

“I guess we’re both going back in the shower now,” says Tommy. 

“Not now,” mumbles Lovett. “Soon.”

“Hey, Lovett, when we get home . . .” says Tommy.

"Ugh, don't remind me. What?"

“Oh. Just . . . I want you to see someone about that cut. It looks bad.”

When they get home, Lovett thinks, everything will go back to the way it usually is between them. Just close friends. Until they go on tour again.


	2. At All Times Resisting

“Are you dating anyone rights now?” Emily scoots closer to where Lovett sits on her couch. She rests her soft head on his shoulder. Jon's in the kitchen, washing the dinner dishes. The TV is turned up loud so he won't hear them gossiping, but they don't pay it any attention. 

“Kind of? Not really? I’m hooking up sometimes with someone really hot. He’s straight, though.”

Emily pulls back and looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Straight,” she says, in the same way one might say 'banking industry lobbyist.'

“Yep. Hey, look, some of my best friends are straight.”

“Tell me how _that_ works, exactly.”

“How detailed an account would you like?”

She hits him with a dusty-pink throw pillow.

“Not completely straight, obviously. On a straight life trajectory. Straight-aspiring, let’s say.” He pulls Pundit onto his lap and cuddles her to his chest. “It’s a great situation, actually. Just like, we both know exactly what it is.”

“And what is it?”

Lovett glances at Jon, who is immersed in an episode of "Slow Burn." He puts his hands over Pundit’s ears.

“Sex, Emily. It’s about sex. That’s it.”

Emily presses her lips into a thin, straight line and shoots him a skeptical look. “Good sex?”

He raises his eyebrows and blows out a breath. “You have no idea.”

“And you don’t want it to be anything more?” She reaches over to scratch Pundit’s back.

“I mean, eventually, with someone. I want, I don’t know, something like this.” He waves his hand at their surroundings—the cozy decor and warm lighting, Jon wearing Emily’s flowered apron, Leo asleep on the rug. Emily smiles, a little more smug than Lovett needs at this moment.

“But for right now, this thing is fine. It's great. There’s like a science to keeping it hot and casual. I’m a seasoned professional in this department.”

He can see he hasn't convinced her. “If you say so, Lovett.”

***

The Austin show is incredible. Lovett can feel the audience’s enthusiasm propelling the electricity on stage. Afterwards, he lingers to mix with the crowd, and Tommy keeps catching his eye, hovering off to the side. Lovett smiles to himself and starts to form a plan for their evening.

But after the late show, Lovett’s leg is bothering him more than ever. Tommy insists they take him to the emergency room, and he spends the next couple days in the hospital alone.

It’s boring as shit fighting off life-threatening bacteria all by himself. He wishes he were back on the road with everyone else. He wishes he were on stage, feeling the love and delight of the crowd wash over him. 

He’d could be in a hotel in San Antonio right at this moment, thoroughly defiling Tommy, just stripping all that endearing sanctimony right off of him. Making him laugh, too. But no. Now they probably won’t even hook up again until the next tour.

His phone buzzes.

 _Missed you tonight,_ reads the message from Tommy.

_Everyone, or just you?_

_All of us. The audience, too_

_Good. That’s as it should be_

_Missing you now_

Lovett pauses, types out several replies, deletes them. He checks Twitter. His mentions are filled with “you okay” messages. He replies to a few from the people he actually knows.

_Shit  
Too much?_

Lovett thinks for a moment, then types. 

_Why don’t you show me how much you miss me_

An image pops into the message thread. Tommy is stretched out on white hotel sheets, looking into the camera with a soft, sleepy expression. Lovett likes that look almost as much as he likes Tommy's sexy-bossy face. His freckled chest is bare, and he’s angled the shot just so. Lovett can see a hint of tenting in his thin, worn sweatpants.

_Show me just the pants now_

Tommy complies. Lovett’s mouth goes dry. 

_You’re lucky I’m in a weakened state_

_(tommy boatshoe is typing)_

_I’ll wait for you to get your strength up_

_You’d fucking better_

A nurse comes in suddenly to check his vitals, and Lovett hastily exits the messaging screen, shifting his face to an expression of noble suffering. Tommy's pants will have to wait for him.

***

When he’s finally released from the hospital, Tommy is waiting in the lobby.

“Hey there, Limpy.” He offers Lovett a steadying arm.

“You didn’t have to come get me.” It comes out grouchier than he intends.

Tommy pauses, gives Lovett a strange look. “Yeah, I really did.”

They exit the hospital lobby in silence. Lovett squints at the bright Austin sunlight, and Tommy hands him his sunglasses. He squeezes Lovett’s arm, pats his back briefly.

“I’m glad you’re okay, man. I’m sorry we didn’t get any, uh, personal time together.”

Lovett's sorry about that, too. Extremely, embarrassingly disappointed, really. It feels like it would be weird to say so. He lets it go.

“Lovett, listen, I've been thinking—”

“Wait, I just thought of something, check this out: my commitment to the resistance is so total, even the bacteria in my system are, at all times, resisting.”

Tommy cracks up. “That’s good. You should use that on stage.”

Lovett smiles and squeezes his hand. “I totally should. What were you about to say?”

Tommy frowns and shakes his head. "Nah, it's nothing. Never mind."


	3. Want It Too Much

At the March For Our Lives in D.C., Lovett loses track of Tommy for a while. Finally, he finds him deep in conversation with a pair of little girls in matching Wonder Woman shirts. A woman in a Friend of the Pod hat, maybe their mother, stands looking on.

As Lovett watches them, he fidgets and pushes his fingernail into a tiny bruise on his forearm. The little thrill of pain brings a memory, unbidden, of the night before. Tommy looming over him, focused and intent, gripping Lovett’s forearms and dropping small, biting kisses down his front, nosing at the hair on Lovett’s chest and abdomen, humming happily into his skin.

“I love your belly,” he’d said, open and unguarded. He sucked a sloppy kiss near Lovett’s navel, biting gently and shaking the soft skin playfully in his teeth. He rested his cheek in the cradle of Lovett’s hip and looked up at him, smiling. His expression was soft, but he didn’t release his tight grip on Lovett’s arms, holding him in place.

“Ugh, gross, don’t call it that.” Lovett squirmed, but he didn’t shake off Tommy’s hold.

“What? A belly? You don’t like that word? Belly. Belllllyyy.”

Lovett pulled free and and smacked his arm. He pulled Tommy up to him and rolled onto his side, their faces pressed close against the pillows. He could feel Tommy’s breath on his cheek.

“You’re so weird and random about body stuff. Belly’s a great word. It’s adorable. You’re adorable.”

Lovett held Tommy’s gaze for a while, brow furrowed. Tommy just kept looking at him, warm and indulgent, stupid blue eyes crinkled in amusement. 

“Lovett—” he started to say, but Lovett felt suddenly like he couldn't keep looking at Tommy. He huffed and rolled to face the wall. But then he scooted back until he was curled into Tommy's embrace again, pressed back-to-chest.

Tommy slid his leg around Lovett and kissed the top of Lovett’s head. He traced patterns on his back until they both fell asleep.

***

Lovett snaps back to the present moment, watching Tommy. He's so charmed and at ease talking to these miniature activists. His face is solemn as he listens to them.

“And then? We go in the, into the, um, the art closet,” the girl with two curly hair poufs is saying. “And if we’re really quiet until the, uh, timer rings, we all get a sticker on the chart.” She's twirling a small cardboard sign with the words, “Congress: do your job” written in careful block letters.

Lovett feels a twist of impotent anger rise up in him, but he keeps listening. He wishes he could make those fucking poor excuses for legislators hide silently to earn a sticker.

“Is it hard to stay quiet?” Tommy asks. His careful concentration reminds Lovett of the way he looks recording a phone interview in the studio, headphones on, deeply engaged. 

Lovett notices, not for the first time today, that Tommy doesn’t speak down to these kids. He doesn’t modulate his voice or condescend to them, even though he’s literally bending in half to hold a conversation. He affords them the same respectful attention he gives to the dreary policy experts who join him on Pod Save the World. It’s remarkable.

Tommy is remarkable.

Tommy glances up and notices Lovett watching him. His face cracks into a smile. He waves him over, but Lovett shakes his head and turns away. He stomps off purposefully in no particular direction.

***

“What’s going on with this one?” Senator Biden had asked Jon, jabbing a thumb at Lovett as they arranged themselves for photographs. “I’ve never seen him so cheerful and calm. Well, I say calm—relatively speaking.”

Everyone laughed.

“The life of a media mogul agrees with me,” Lovett had said. “Maybe you should try it, Senator.”

Biden had cracked up at that, but Tommy just caught Lovett’s eye and gave him a small smile. A fleeting, private smile that settled in Lovett’s chest.

***

They can’t keep going, obviously. That much is clear. Lovett recognizes the signs. He's starting to feel to comfortable, to want it too much.

Sleeping with his friend and co-founder is one thing. Hovering over him like a lovesick creep while he chats with elementary school kids is another level entirely. Lovett's losing his sense of perspective.

He's fooled around with enough mostly-straight guys to know how the next part goes. Emily’s right. She didn't say so, but she didn't need to. If he doesn’t cut it off here, he will only want more. 

He will start to want everything from Tommy. He will cling to every shred of hope, interpret every gesture as a sign that this is real, that it could last. Lovett will get way too invested, and he will inevitably embarrass himself and make Tommy pull away.

He doesn't want it to end. Not now. Not ever. But if it doesn’t end now, it will end badly. He needs to do the hard thing, he knows that.

He pulls his beanie lower on his forehead and shoves his hands in his pockets, circling among the protesters. He watches a couple of guys taking a crowd selfie. They have that smug couple look, similar haircuts and coordinating glasses. One is wearing a baby in a carrier; the other holds the leash of a small terrier.

That's kind of cute. Lovett doesn’t hate it.

He can’t let it end badly with Tommy. It would fuck up everything with Crooked, and it would fuck up their friendship.

But maybe it's too late? Is their friendship already irrevocably fucked up?"

No. No, it's fine. Lovett can still fix this.

***

“And what if I don’t want to stop?”

Tommy is sitting on the edge of yet another hotel bed, arms folded. Those arms aren’t helping the situation, honestly. Lovett shakes his head.

“Well, these things generally involve the participation of BOTH parties, Tommy, so . . .”

“So this is the last time,” he states flatly

Lovett had planned to make his little speech and then decamp to his own room to eat garbage food in solitude. But hooking up one last time actually makes more sense. Just to end the whole thing on a positive note. Something like that.

***

Lovett has made an error, he realizes, as soon as he's inside Tommy. It’s too much, gazing down into his face and knowing they won’t be here again. Tommy just keeps looking right back, moaning with increasing abandon as Lovett thrusts into him.

Lovett tries to get his his bearings. He props himself up on one arm and strokes Tommy’s cock with the other. He dips to kiss Tommy's cheeks, his jaw. He lets his lips linger on his brow, his temple, kisses his eyelids and the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, too soon, Tommy is groaning and finishing, biting his lip as he grips the sheet, his eyes somewhere off to the side. 

Lovett squeezes his own eyes shut. It can't be over yet. He just needs to focus. Find a way to rise above this moment. Stop feeling, smelling, tasting Tommy all around him and through him.

“Jon.” Tommy's voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Jon, look at me.”

He meets Tommy’s gaze, and it’s more than Lovett can take. He kisses him hard, deep, and lets go. He can't stop his hips from snapping back, from slamming into Tommy over and over again, can't stop holding Tommy's arms and shouting nonsense, begging Tommy for what? For everything.

They’re still kissing as he comes. Lovett only breaks contact when he can’t prop himself up any longer. He lets go of Tommy's arms and collapses, completely spent.

He rests his head on Tommy’s sweat-slick chest, breathing hard. He can feel Tommy’s heart hammering against his cheek. Tears form in his eyes and drip onto Tommy’s dumb smooth skin.

Tommy sighs and folds all his long limbs around Lovett, cradling him, holding him in. They stay that way until they fall asleep together.


	4. Say Yes

He knocks on Jon and Emily’s door and lets himself in.

“Hey, I’m here,” he calls out, letting Pundit down to greet Leo and Lucca. Lucca?

“Hey!” Jon calls from the kitchen. “Come on in, dinner's almost ready.”

Lovett crouches on the floor and plays with the dogs a bit. He can hear Jon and Emily talking quietly. He's caught them in the middle of something.

“So he's coming back tonight?” Emily says. She sounds concerned. "What's going on with him, anyway?

“Yeah, it's like . . . you know how I told you he’s been like, seeing someone that he wanted to get serious with?"

"Yeah, did that work out?"

"So, I guess not? He was going to surprise them after the march and take them for a trip, but he got dumped instead.”

“And now he’s just off licking his wounds? Oof.”

“Yeah, he went to visit his sister. Hey Lovett,” he calls out, “Come on back here, help me set the table.”

“Poor Tommy.” The roar of the food processor drowns out out the next bit of conversation.

When the whirring stops, Lovett hears Jon say, “...just how he gets, like he thinks he can just hook up and be casual with someone, but he can't. That’s just not Tommy. It’s like with Ben during the campaign, and then with Katie, right?”

“He doesn’t do light and fun,” says Emily.

“Deffffffinitely not. Tommy just wants to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Lovett sits on the floor, everything exploding around him. He understands what he’s hearing, but somehow, he can’t make sense of it. He can’t fit the pieces together.

Oh.

Oh no.

He pulls out his phone and looks up the flight arrivals schedule. Then he scrambles to his feet and calls toward the kitchen.

“Guys? I'm sorry, I have to go. I’m leaving Pundit here. I’ll explain later.”

He doesn’t wait for their reaction. They’ll understand. Probably. Eventually. They’ll have questions, definitely.

He leaves their house, gets in his car and drives to LAX.

***

He waits for Tommy outside baggage claim. Lovett had thought he might not make it in time to catch him, but now he’s been pacing and fidgeting for the better part of an hour. His hair is a disaster. He should have made a sign. He should have brought something to give to Tommy. He should have—

“Lovett?”

He looks up. Tommy is standing in front of him. He looks pale, exhausted, and not apparently thrilled to see Lovett. That’s fair.

“Hi Tommy."

“Hi.” His voice is flat.

Lovett's throat starts to hurt in a gross, wet sort of way.

“Welcome home.”

Tommy takes off his messenger bag in a single motion, lifting the strap up over his head and carefully setting the bag down beside him. 

It's a simple thing that just emphasizes how stupidly strong and graceful and handsome he is. It casts a big fucking spotlight on what Lovett could have had. If only he hadn't insisted on screwing himself over—again! Always! Seeing it now just rubs salt in the full-body rug burn of Lovett's self-sabotaging, joy-thwarting—

“What are you doing here? You came to pick me up?” Tommy squints down at him, disoriented. 

Lovett's chest is tight, far too tight, crowded, really. He wants to skip this part and go back to Tommy's house and get into his bed for a week. He wants to push his face into the soft front of Tommy's shirt until he disappears. He wants to be safe and have everyone he loves in his life forever. He wants his house to feel lived-in. He wants to be brave, if only for Tommy.

Last chance back out.

“I’m making a foolish spectacle.”

“Sorry, what?” Tommy looks suddenly worried.

“I was stupid. Really needlessly stupid in the wrong direction, a bad direction, and my plan is this: I’m canceling that out by being even more stupid, cliche-level stupid, in the extreme opposite direction."

Lovett sounds crazed, he can hear it. But he keeps going. He needs to get this all out before Tommy tells him to fuck off.

"That's what I'm doing so that, ah, so that you’ll forget I acted stupid, and say yes.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to be someone’s boyfriend.”

“You want me to—”

“Mine. I want you to be my boyfriend. I want—I want a boyfriend. You. I want you. To be my boyfriend. You're really good at it, Tommy. I don’t want us to stop. Ever. I'm messing this up. Am I messing this up?”

Tommy lets out a huge huff of a breath. He begins to laugh. He sounds a little delirious, just this side of hysterical.

“Lovett. Jon. You are definitely not messing this up. I won't let you. Come here.”

Jon takes a tentative step and looks up at Tommy, mortified to feel tears pricking his eyes. But Tommy's face is kind. Fond, maybe? Fond is good.

Flushed with desperate hope, Lovett rests his hands on Tommy's shoulders. He's so warm, so solid.

Tommy smiles and shakes his head. He takes Lovett’s head in his hands and pulls him close, kisses him thoroughly, passionately, unreserved and split wide-open.

"Don't stop ever," Tommy mumbles against his lips, and keeps kissing him.

The crowd streams endlessly around them, coming and going. They remain as they are, pressed together on the pavement. Lovett lets himself fall into it.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With gratitude to the BSF artists who imagined post-shower, face-down Tommy in a towel. Thank you for your contribution to humanity. 
> 
> Thank you to [boatshoefucker](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/boatshoefucker)  
> on Tumblr for sharing the video of Lovett talking about his hospitalization. 
> 
> The bit with Tommy calling Lovett "Jon" for the first time is inspired by a similar scene in Poppyalexander's wonderful Sherlock hockey AU [Boyfriend Material](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857168/chapters/20310361)
> 
> Apologies to Hanna and Ronan. In this universe, they are co-rulers of a remote egalitarian republic in the Southern Hemisphere, and they both own really excellent dogs. 
> 
> Thanks to Liz Phair for the title, and for everything, really.
> 
> Come say hello on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/justlikesomuch).


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